


Got You Pegged

by bactaqueen



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Pegging, Voyeurism, godawful title
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 09:21:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bactaqueen/pseuds/bactaqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Because he spent so long as the weak man that now being the one in authority, the one in power, the one in control... sometimes it's too much."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Got You Pegged

**Title:**  Got You Pegged  
 **Author:**  bactaqueen  
 **Rating:**  M  
 **Warnings:**  that godawful title, pegging, voyeurism  
 **Setting:** _Captain America: The First Avenger_  
 **Characters:**  Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes  
 **Disclaimer:**  This is a work of fiction. Recognizable characters belong to their respective owners. No profit is earned and no infringement is intended.  
 **Summary:**  "Because he spent so long as the weak man that now being the one in authority, the one in power, the one in control... sometimes it's too much."

 

They have too much downtime between missions.

It's war. Any reprieve from the fighting should be welcomed, relished. Steve can't relax. If he's not fighting, he's thinking too much, and thinking too much means he's no good for anyone.

Thank God for Peggy.

Peggy, lit by the glow of the room's single bulb. He knows she likes the way her skin looks in this light and so does he. She's warm and soft now, a stark contrast to her severe authority in the war room. The black silk and lace she wears now--prized and brought out only on this occasions, when he gets up the nerve to ask--is complimented by the leather harness that circles her waist and is secured by straps to her creamy thighs. Steve's breath catches in his throat when he looks down. Seated against the cradle of her womanhood, framed by lace and silk and the porcelain of her skin, juts her mockup of manhood. He hasn't exactly compared them side-by-side, but by his estimation it's as long as his and slightly thinner. It glistens with carefully rationed oil.

Everything is rationed. Steve doesn't mind.

His eyes skate up, over the flare of her hip and the dip of her waist, over the soft curves of her breasts and the pale perfection of her shoulders. In the light, her dark eyes are hooded, but her lips are red. Her lips are so very red. She stands still, her legs apart, her back arched, her hands with their sniper's callouses resting on her hips, and she watches him, silent, as he looks his fill. He can feel her scrutiny of him. It's only fair.

He's naked. This is a power game and nakedness makes him feel weak. He feels like his old self, small and frail, even though he's not that anymore. Not even close. He's hard, too; it's as much the sight of her in this state of undress--prettier and more alluring than any suggestive photo printed in any issue of  _Yank_ \--as it is the thought of what she'll do to him.

Because he asked. Because it's what he wants. Because he spent so long as the weak man that now being the one in authority, the one in power, the one in control... sometimes it's too much.

Peggy understands.

He doesn't know how, he just knows that she does.

She smiles at him, just enough to ease some of the tightness in his chest, and then she moves behind him.

This cramped little room deep inside the underground London base is supposed to be an office, but Steve can smell sex and sometimes they find used rubbers on the floor, so he knows that they're not the only ones who use it this way. That doesn't matter. What matters is that she moves behind him, she puts her hand on his back between his shoulders, and she pushes. He drops. He goes willingly, folding himself over the desk, his chest and stomach flat on the battered cold metal. He spreads his legs and he grips the edge of the table and he waits.

Peggy ghosts her fingers over his back, touching his shoulders, tracing the length of his spine. At his waist, brushes her palms against his skin. Her callouses catch. He closes his eyes and doesn't even try to keep himself from trembling. Her hands glide down, over his buttocks. She steps closer to him, her heels clicking on the cold concrete, and she squeezes him firmly before she spreads him open. She touches him with just the pad of one finger. Steve holds his breath and wonders what she thinks when she feels that he's come prepared, too.

She doesn't say anything. She shifts, and he feels the loss of one hand. Then there's the smooth blunt head of the dildo. He bears down, sighing and shivering as she eases it in. There's the slow push, the feeling of fullness, the first wave of relief that finally washes over him. That's it. He's not in control anymore. Peggy rests her hands on his hips. The first few thrusts are slow, lazy, for figuring out how he needs it. Steve doesn't have the words to be specific and Peggy doesn't demand he find them. He lets his body talk, he lets his moans and whimpers talk, and she listens. She presses her hips against him. The dildo is in deep, deep enough he can feel the brush of silk, the heat of her body through the lace. He wonders what it does for her. He's seen the end of the toy, the inside of the harness, and he hopes she likes it. Then she's thrusting, slow thorough strokes that fill him and empty him and touch him, and he can't think anymore. He clenches his eyes tight and curls his fingers around the edge of the desk.

His cock hangs heavy and hard and neglected between his thighs. She doesn't touch him, she doesn't speak, she just fucks him. There's only the feel of the dildo, long and just thick enough, gliding in and out. There's the head of it sliding over that place inside him that makes his cock strain, makes his balls tighten, makes pressure build at the base of his spine. The only warmth he gets is her hands on his hips, steadying herself. Her breathing his labored. His is harsh. There's the blindness even with his eyes closed.

And through it all, there's the relief. Spreading and suffusing, twining with the building tension. He's no longer in control.

He doesn't have to be.

The door handle rattles. Steve's head snaps up. Panic rises like bile in his throat. He can't remember if they locked the door. He looks wildly over his shoulder at Peggy, Peggy with her paled cheeks and wild eyes and swollen lips and hair out of place. The door creaks open and Steve has the gut-sinking realization that they're caught. He looks back to the door.

Bucky is there. Bucky with his knowing eyes and the curve of his lips. Bucky with the sense to lock the damn door behind himself.

Steve sags, relieved.

Peggy is still tense behind him.

Bucky leans back against the door and cocks an eyebrow at Steve. "So this is where you go when I can't find you?"

The shame burns, hot, but he can't tear his eyes away from his best friend, from the reason he always has to be on these days. Steve comes here because he couldn't let Bucky die, and now he can't handle the pressure.

But he especially can't look away when Bucky starts touching himself through his pants.

Bucky glances up at Peggy. "He get this a lot?"

"Frequently, yes." Even now, Peggy is calm, poised.

Bucky opens his pants. He lets them droop around his thighs and wraps one hand around his cock, rubs the flat of his palm over the head of it. He smirks and looks between them. "Well, don't stop on my account." He pumps his cock once and then he holds himself and he waits.

Peggy needs no encouragement. She picks up exactly where she left off. Steve clenches around the toy, driven harder and harder against the desk. He can't look away from Bucky stroking himself in time with Peggy's thrusts. It's more than his overloaded body can handle. Steve tightens his grip on the edge of the desk, denting the metal. The pressure built in the base of his spine explodes out, releasing from his balls and spurting hot from his cock. Peggy thrusts still, his hypersensitive anus clenching hard around her toy, until Steve moans a protest. She stills, but doesn't leave, and he knows she's watching Bucky just the same as he is, Bucky coming over his hand, staining his fatigues.

Bucky falls back against the door and gives Steve another reckless grin. Gingerly, Peggy removes the toy, shifting her hips and stroking Steve's back as she pulls out. He feels the brush of her hair against his shoulder blade and knows he must be imagining the press of soft lips over his spine. Peggy wouldn't show affection, not like that, not even after what they've just done, in front of Bucky. Steve closes his eyes and breathes out. He doesn't move.

He doesn't have to.

Not yet.


End file.
